


The Blackbirds Sing at Dusk

by CinderPath



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 03:45:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18161048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinderPath/pseuds/CinderPath
Summary: AU in which Gold is the librarian and Belle the antique shop owner. They meet on a train





	The Blackbirds Sing at Dusk

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a month which has found me drained of the will to write. Apologies.
> 
> I have never been on a train as you'll surely be able to tell. If I had spent time doing research on trains, I would have lost the minute amount of will I had to write this. It is inaccurate, but I don't mind. It is its own self-contained world where old fashioned trains go to New York. Keep in mind, as I do, that it's not as though the writers of Once would have bothered to write realistically. 
> 
> Based on the A Monthly Rumbelling moodboard prompt for March.
> 
> The Kate Bush song mentioned in Belle's thoughts: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOseQL6mpIg

The train continued, the world outside the window a blur. Belle hadn't slept well the night before, and found herself easing away as she glimpsed through the window children playing, long stretches of emptiness, a group of young men at a basketball court...

When she woke, she was no longer alone. The train cabin now housed a slight man. When she opened her eyes, startled — she had no reason to be startled, the train was not hers alone, no matter how much she might wish it could be. The man did not show any signs of having noticed her. He was too busy reading a book. It was without a dustjacket, and to her annoyance, she couldn't make out the worn gold font of the title along its spine.

Her gaze traveled from his hands, taking in his features before he noticed that she was awake. He was wearing dark glasses over dark eyes. They were the sea of honey Kate Bush sang of, the sky of honey. Honey burnt or aged, rum. Beautiful and transparent. Stubble covered his chin, cheekbones and the skin above his lips. His hair was to his shoulders, light and shades of gray and brown. His skin was from the sun darkened. She imagined its warmth beneath her fingertips.

He must have sensed her observation as he turned his head and looked directly into her eyes. His features were unreadable. "Hello."

"Hi. Uh, sorry," she awkwardly straightened in her seat, smoothing down her skirt. "I don't know how I feel asleep."

"Sorry?" He laughed from his open mouth, a very quiet laugh that escaped the back of his throat abruptly, almost like a scoff. The light sound of a rock scraping against another. "For what reason now?" He leaned forward and offered her his hand. "My name's Gold."

"Belle French," she said, shaking his hand.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. French."

"Yeah, you too." She nervously turned a ring on her finger. "So, are you traveling on holiday or...?"

"I'm visiting my son. He lives in New York."

"Have you been there before?"

He nodded his affirmation.

"Do you like it?"

He closed his mouth, moved his head from side to side, trying to decide. "I like things about it, but it's all a bit too rushed for me. You?"

"Oh, I've never been, but I've always wanted to go."

"And now you finally are."

"Yes," she said with a smile that quickly faded. "I won't be there long enough to see much of the sights, though. I have to get back to Maine to be with my father."

She reached into her handbag and retrieved a square of folded paper which she unfolded and passed to Gold. "My mother had a necklace just like the one in that picture. My father told me it was in her family a long time. I've seen it in pictures, but can't find it with her things. Apparently they're really rare... Someone is selling one at an estate sale in New York. I thought I'd try, though I've never had much luck at auctions. My friends seemed to think the trip will do me good as well."

"You do have nice color in your cheeks."

She inhaled, held the air in her chest. The color he spoke of had little to do with thoughts of New York. She made light of things, misdirected. "Well, I'm not even there yet. My face'll probably be scarlet just getting a taxi outside the airport."

Gold looked down in consideration. If she had known him better, she would have been able to tell he was revisiting the past.

"You know how New York in movies and TV is always accompanied by sounds of police sirens and car horns? All sorts of constant activity... It's exactly like that. The first time I stepped out of the airport to get a cab, I was flooded by the sounds and felt this wave of emotion come over me, realizing I was actually there."

A stretch of silence passed between them until she chose to break it.

"What are you reading?"

He closed his book, turning the spine toward him as if he himself couldn't recall. "A little Flannery O'Connor. My library, I mean to say, the library where I work, has a book club. That's why I'm reading her again. Trying to. I haven't been able to concentrate since I started it this morning."

"You're a Librarian?"

"Have been for many years. What about you, Ms. French? What's your line of work?"

"I own an antique store in Maine."

His lips opened and small sound escaped, a mistake, unborn words. "Antiques interest me. I've always believed that some items, ones that people really grow attached to, can come to hold a bit of their owners... As though they've imprinted themselves on their belongings without their knowledge... Perhaps they also manage to maintain a small moment in time when they themselves were new or when something very important happened."

Her nervousness subsided, her eyes blinked rapidly. Someone who felt the same. "I-I believe that as well."

"You have to be careful what you let in your house, or in this case, your shop."

"You always have to be careful. Going out in a bad mood, negative people will sense it. Going antiquing in a bad state, your eye will land on the unsavory. I wouldn't feel right selling an item that made me feel uncomfortable to a customer, no matter how much it might be worth."

She studied him and found him studying her. Marbles, ornaments - they were reminiscent of his eyes. She couldn't name all that they brought forth other than copper liquid. Ornate items she'd always found fascinating, but his eyes were living matter; forest beds of pine needles, water smoothed stone, flowing creeks, peeled sycamore bark. The message written on their backs, etched in black ink and sealed behind open windows, what it would say if written by her hand? She didn't know. She wanted to find out. His face, his frame, whispered of mystery. She saw herself running in a maze, but she was happy running, not chased, looking over her shoulder for an unseen follower, laughing.

The more she looked at him the more she considered things she wouldn't normally. What was it about him? Not just his looks, though he was handsome. Something deep within, about him, as though she'd always known him.

There hadn't been any men in her life. Not since Gaston, and she'd never even wanted him. Never slept with him, not when there wasn't any love between them. Yet she found herself thinking of tracing this stranger's lips, wondering what it would be like to hold him. She closed her eyes at the thought, her head growing heavy with it as if it were too much.

The train came to a stop, and with a sudden dread she realized she had no means, no practical reason, to stay in touch with Mr. Gold. She could simply ask for his information, but didn't want to say the wrong thing and scare him off. They'd only been speaking. Passing time as their train completed its journey.

She rose from her seat and reached for her carpet bag. She ran a hand through her hair attempting to straighten matters that did not need rightened.

"Miss French, I really enjoyed speaking with you." He looked down in thought, summoning strength. "I'd like to stay in touch... This... This is my stop as well, would you fancy having lunch with me before you go on your way?"

"I'd love to."


End file.
